CHRISTIAN HEROISM
A Picture in "Punch"--Tommy's Deep-rooted Religion--Courage of
Chaplains--A Shell in His Back--Stories of Christian
Soldiers--First Clergyman Soldier to Die--Driver Osborne--A
Church Parade of Four--"Tell My Wife I am Ready "--Duty
overcomes Fear.
There was a time when men thought that the reckless devil-may-care man
made the finest soldier; that the hard drinker, the hard swearer, the
riotous liver came out best in a fight. Wellington wrote of his
"collection of ruffians" in the Peninsula: "It is impossible to
describe to you the irregularities and excesses committed by the
troops. We are an excellent army on parade, an excellent one to fight,
but we are worse than an enemy in the country." How greatly times have
changed since then!
Sir George White once said that recklessness and lawlessness will
carry men a certain distance, but when men are half fed, when nights
are wet and cold, and when nerves are broken down by shot and shell,
then the lawless man disappears. It is when he is called upon to take
the place of a comrade shot on a lonely picket that the man who has
disciplined himself proves the true soldier.
General Nogi, who commanded the Japanese forces at Port Arthur, held
the same view. His words may well be borne in mind at this time:
"Only he who has conquered himself in time of peace can aspire to be a
fighting man under the Sun flag. The brilliant and faithful deeds of
the soldier on the battle-field are nothing but the flowering and
fruition of the work and training of his daily life in time of peace.
A man whose life is in disorder in time of peace would have a rather
difficult task if he tried to perform with correctness and success the
duties of a true soldier on the field of battle."
If we carry these statements on to their issue, then surely the
Christian soldier should fight best of all. He has not only the
discipline and training of the Army, but moral discipline and training
as well. And he has something more--the spiritual fact which dominates
his being and transfigures and transforms him. To him death is not
death, he lives and will live, and in the worst of all fiery furnaces
there is always with him "the form of the fourth, like unto the Son of
God."
Such men as these are unconquerable. They remind us of _Punch's_
famous cartoon, "Unconquerable"; for _Punch_ is not only a humorist,
he is a preacher too.
_The Kaiser_: "So you see--you've lost everything."
_The King of the Belgians_: "Not my soul!"
The Kaiser has gained his victory and sheathed his sword. Belgium is
his; there is nothing in that country left for him to conquer. A
ruined building is behind him, on his left is the broken wheel of a
gun-carriage. In the distance is a Belgian family--an aged man, a
woman, a child. The woman's husband is not there--most likely he is
dead.
The King of the Belgians has lost his helmet. His uniform is war-worn,
his hair untidy. His scabbard is empty, but he has not parted with his
sword. He still grasps it in his strong right hand.
"You have lost everything," says the Kaiser--"Liege, Namur, Brussels,
Antwerp." "No, not everything. Not my soul."
But the King of the Belgians was not alone in the claim which _Punch_
puts into his life. Every Christian man fighting for his country, and
many another, wounded, frost-bitten, dying, can answer "Not my soul."
You cannot take that from him, it is his own sacred possession, and
the consciousness that he possesses it still nerves him to do and
dare.
As the Rev. E.R. Day, Church of England chaplain at the front, says:
"There were men to whom we might almost kneel down in reverence. The
bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience of our men at the front are
such that French people could not understand it."
It is not necessary to claim that these qualities are the sole
possession of the Christian man. It is, indeed, far otherwise. But the
Christian graces produce them best of all. Mr. Day is right when he
says, "Though apparently careless and light-hearted, one realised that
there was a deep-rooted religion in our soldiers, and that it was
indeed a fool's game to judge a man by his outward appearance." It is
largely because of that "deep-rooted religion" that the qualities of
"bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience" are produced.
We must remember that our Army at the front is made up in no small
degree of men from homes in which God is honoured, many of them old
Sunday-school boys. They have been trained in religion, they have been
taught to pray. Some have forgotten much that they were taught, but
they have not forgotten the old hymns and prayers, and in their time
of need that "deep-rooted" religious instinct has asserted itself. As
one of them said to me, "I grew too old for Sunday-school, and I
wandered far away from God. For years I never prayed; but in the
battle of the Marne I began to pray again, and I have kept on praying.
I tell you what it is, sir, most men out there are praying now." Yes,
there is felt the need for God and so there is prayer. My point is
that, all things being equal, the man who prays is the best soldier,
because he possesses spiritual power as well as material.
[Illustration: _Central News Photo._
THE BISHOP OF LONDON AT THE FRONT AT EASTER.
Addressing men of the Army Service Corps from a transport cart]
I purpose therefore telling in this chapter of the heroism of the men
who pray, while at the same time I do not overlook the heroism of the
Army as a whole. My purpose will be answered if I convince my readers
that, instead of religion impairing the courage of our soldiers, it is
increased and intensified thereby.
May I first speak of the courage of our chaplains? Not every one
expects a "parson" to be brave. The pulpit has been spoken of by the
ill-informed as "The Coward's Castle," but hundreds of these parsons
have been transferred to the forefront of the fight. As I write this,
many of them are already fighting in the ranks, and many more will
soon be there.
But the chaplain is not a fighting man. Not a shot does he fire, not a
bayonet thrust does he give. He sees the shot and shell bursting round
him, but he has not the stimulus of the fight. How have they borne
themselves--these men who have been transferred from the pulpit to the
battle-field? Two hundred of them are there. Has there been one
lacking in courage? I doubt it. The stories I have already told are
stories of conspicuous bravery. Let me add one or two more.
I have already mentioned the name of the Rev. Percy Wyndham Guinness,
Church of England chaplain, 3rd Cavalry Brigade. He has been appointed
by the King a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order, in
recognition of his services with the Expeditionary Force. The official
statement is: "On the 5th November at Kruistraat when Major Dixon,
16th Lancers, was mortally wounded, he went on his own initiative into
the trenches under heavy fire and brought him to the ambulance, and on
the afternoon of the same day, being the only individual with a horse
in the shelled area, took a message under heavy fire from the 4th
Hussars to the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Brigade."
That is the bare official statement, but it is enough. We may read
between the lines bravery pre-eminent, and right worthily does he wear
the D.S.O.
"T.P.'s" _Great Deeds of the Great War_ tells another story. "Some of
the ministers at the front are doing great deeds of sacrifice. As I
was coming away from the hospital, I met one of them accompanied by a
corporal. The minister stopped and inquired from me the way to the
hospital. Naturally enough, I asked the corporal what was the matter
with him. Before I could get the words out of my mouth, the minister
turned round,--and I don't think I could describe the admiration I had
for that man. He had walked about a mile and a half with a great lump
of shell in his back, the size of a man's hand." That was endurance if
you like, and it was the endurance of a Padre.
I cannot better sum up the heroism of the chaplains at the front than
in the words of Field-Marshal Sir John French in his despatch
published on February 17, 1915. "In a quiet and unostentatious manner
the chaplains of all denominations have worked with devotion and
energy in their respective spheres. The number with the forces in the
field at the commencement of the war was comparatively small, but
towards the end of last year, the Rev. J.M. Simms, D.D., K.H.C,
principal chaplain, assisted by his secretary, the Rev. W. Drury,
reorganised the branch, and placed the spiritual welfare of the
soldiers on a more satisfactory footing. It is hoped that a further
increase of personnel may be found possible. I cannot speak too highly
of the devoted manner in which all chaplains, whether with troops in
the trenches, or in attendance on the sick and wounded in casualty
clearing stations and hospitals on the line of communications, have
worked throughout the campaign."
The day after this statement was published came the despatches
mentioning the names of those noted for distinguished conduct in the
field, and in this--the second list--we find the names of no fewer
than sixteen chaplains, while the Hon. and Rev. Maurice Peel (brother
of Lord Peel) has received the new Military Cross.
The stories, however, that I most want to tell are the stories of the
soldiers, officers and men. They were all alike, but my stories are
confined to the definitely Christian soldiers. Their spirit is
indicated in the following letter from Captain Norman Leslie of the
Rifle Brigade, who has since died for his country.
"Try not to worry too much about the war, anyway. Units, individuals
cannot count. Remember we are writing a new page of history. Future
generations cannot be allowed to read the decline of the British
Empire and attribute it to us. We live our little lives and die. To
some are given chances of proving themselves men and to others no
chance comes. Whatever our individual faults, virtues, or qualities
may be it matters not, but when we are up against big things let us
forget individuals, and let us act as one great British unit, united
and fearless. It is better far to go out with honour than survive with
shame."
That is the true spirit of the Christian soldier--"Better far to go
out with honour than survive with shame."
But again I am oppressed with a superabundance of riches. The stories
of Christian heroism which could be told would fill this book. The
Church's Roll of Honour lengthens rapidly. I choose at random.
There is, for example, Captain James Fergus Mackain, 34th Sikh
Pioneers, a zealous member of the Church of England Men's Society, and
before the war Honorary Secretary of its Union in the diocese of
Lahore. "Always bright and hopeful, brave and zealous, ever ready to
help anyone in any way he could, and yet so humble and retiring that
it was always his beautiful Christian character rather than himself
that seemed to stand forward. The quality of his handshake won all
hearts, and even now one seems to feel his vigorous grasp so
characteristic of his thoroughness. A great gentle plaything with the
children, a pacifying, controlling influence with boys and lads, a
quiet sure leadership with men, is it any wonder that such a man was
loved and honoured?" He, too, laid down his life for his country.
There was Lieutenant David Scott Dodgson, R.G.A., who was killed in
action ten days before his thirtieth birthday. Since his death his
promotion to a captaincy had been gazetted. He was laying out a
telephone cable for the battery--a particularly dangerous and
important piece of work--and while doing so was shot. His father
served through the Indian Mutiny and saved the life of Havelock at
Lucknow. Like father, like son.
There was Second Lieutenant H. Arnold Hosegood, 5th Royal Fusiliers,
who was killed in action near Ypres on February 24. A fine upstanding
man, six feet three inches in height, a daring rider, a good shot.
"Generous, chivalrous, and modest, he had a great gift of
friendliness." Before the war he was for a time Superintendent of the
Westbury Park Wesleyan Sunday-school, Bristol, and Secretary of the
Trinity Guild. He was only twenty-three years of age.
There was Private Paul Holman of the H.A.C. He was killed while on
sentry duty on February 17. A comrade writes: "His first thought was
evidently that he must warn the guard; this he did, becoming
unconscious immediately afterwards." His colonel says of him: "He was
a splendid type of young Englishman and a fine soldier, greatly
beloved by us all--officers and men." He had just begun to practise as
a barrister before the war broke out.
There were Second Lieutenant J.C. Baptist Crozier, Royal Munster
Fusiliers, nephew of the Archbishop of Armagh, and Captain L.A.F.
Cane, East Lancashire Regiment, who died leading his men to capture a
trench, and Lieutenant Compton, Royal Scots Greys, son of the late
Lord Alwyne Compton, and scores of other officers, of whom we may say
as was said of those of old, "Who through faith subdued kingdoms,
wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of
lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from
weakness were made strong, waxed mighty in war, turned to flight
armies of aliens."
We expect, however, that officers will set an example of bravery to
their men, and though we mourn the large percentage of officers who
have fallen in the field, we would not have it otherwise. It is the
tradition of the Army, and a noble tradition too.
Perhaps this is the place to record the death of the first
clergyman-soldier who has been killed in this war. The combination of
minister of the Gospel and soldier of the line is so remarkable that
the death of the first of these marks an epoch in the Church's
history.
Captain Lionel Fairfax Studd, of the Rangers, 12th County of London
Regiment, died of wounds received in action on February 14, 1915. He
was the son of Mr. J.E.K. Studd, of the Polytechnic, and nephew of Mr.
C.T. Studd. He had been ordained by the Bishop of London to a curacy
at St. James, Holloway, at Trinity, 1914. But, on the outbreak of war,
he felt it to be his duty, after very grave reflection, to take his
place with his old regiment. Devoted to Christ, he was devoted also to
his country.
The deeds, however, upon which I wish to dwell in this chapter are the
deeds of Christian non-commissioned officers and men. I must choose
with care, and the stories I tell will, I hope, show different phases
of Christian courage.
Let me first tell how Driver F.A. Osborne won the French V.C. For
years Driver Osborne has been associated with the Wesley Hall
Brotherhood, Leicester, and although now on the field still counts
himself a member.
I quote from the _Methodist Times_.
"The story has been slowly imparted to us. In September the gloom of
the long and terrible retreat from Mons was lifted by the announcement
of the capture of ten German guns by the English. Then fugitive
paragraphs made reference to three men who had fought alone, wounded,
but undaunted. Only now can the whole story be pieced together, and it
is a veritable romance--tragic, heroic, glorious.
"It was on September 1, 1914, in a village near Compiegne, that the L
Battery of six guns limbered up on reveille at 2.30, waiting for a
missing order to retire. The French cavalry they were supporting
retired unnoticed in the mist, and at 4.25, as the light grew, the
Germans were perceived, but were thought to be the French. At 4.57
their battery of eleven guns and two maxims opened fire. The first
shell killed Driver Osborne's horse, and in three minutes the gun
teams were destroyed, only six horses being left.
"Men fell in droves, but Captain Bradbury and the men available strove
to unlimber the guns, and in five minutes three were ready for action.
One was instantly disabled by a German shell, and Driver Osborne was
thrice wounded. A shrapnel bullet deeply grazed his cheek, another
caught his shoulder, a third grazed his ribs and inflicted a nasty
chest wound. The second gun was shattered in ten minutes, and then for
another hour and a quarter one gun fought the German battery. It was
an inferno. The screaming dying horses, the shattered groaning men,
the shells in hundreds digging holes of four to five feet deep, and
shrapnel bullets by thousands searching the ground made it a Gehenna.
"Men fell fast. The officers were killed or wounded, but the one gun
fought on. Driver Osborne, thrice wounded, fetched the ammunition
from fifty yards away amidst showers of shrapnel. One shell dropped
within six feet, but did not burst; another hit a gun muzzle, but the
fragments missed him. He was running behind a shattered gun for
ammunition when a shell hit the wheel, and the concussion of the
broken wheel knocked his knee up, and he could go no more. An officer
started for ammunition instead and was instantly killed.
"Osborne holds Captain Bradbury in high honour. 'He was a hero and a
gentleman.' His courage, promptitude, and resource inspired his men.
One by one the German guns were hit, shattered, silenced, and their
gunners fell, under the terrible accuracy of that one British gun. Ten
guns ceased fire, and the Germans fled from the other. The Middlesex
Regiment of infantry arrived at this point and found three men
wounded, covered with blood from horses and men, but working their one
gun with their ebbing strength.
"Dashing forward, they captured the German guns, brought out the
English battery and rescued the wounded men. The three men, with their
fallen comrades, had saved the battery, destroyed the German attack,
saved the village beyond, and secured the English rear."
For this splendid service Driver Osborne was rewarded with the
Medaille Militaire for distinguished conduct. This is the French V.C.
It is equivalent to the Legion of Honour in France, and carries with
it a pension of a hundred francs a year.
Driver Osborne was also recommended for the British V.C., but it does
not yet appear to have been given.
The first Wesleyan soldier in this war to receive the V.C. was
Bandsman Thomas Edward Rendle, 1st Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry.
The reward was, according to the official notification, conferred--
"For conspicuous bravery on November 20, near Wulverghem, when he
attended to the wounded under very heavy shell and rifle fire, and
rescued men from the trenches in which they had been buried by the
blowing in of the parapets by the fire of the enemy's howitzers."
Still another story of Christian heroism, the hero of this being a
member of the Salvation Army. I quote from the _War Cry_ of October
17, 1914.
"Jumping into a carriage of an already moving train the other day
(writes a _War Cry_ representative) I was seized by a soldier in
war-stained khaki, who gave me a tight hand-grip and said, 'Good luck
to you! God bless you and your people!'
"'I'm afraid I don't know you,' I replied.
"'Perhaps not,' he responded, 'but I know some of your people, and the
one I met in the firing line was one of the pluckiest fellows I know
of. We had been lying in the trenches firing for all we were worth. On
my right, shoulder to shoulder, were two Salvationists. I remembered
them as having held a meeting with some of us chaps about a week
before. As we lay there with the bullets whistling round us these two
were the coolest of the whole cool lot!
"'After we had been fighting some time we had orders to fall back, and
as we were getting away from the trenches one of the Salvationists was
hit and fell. His chum didn't miss him until we had gone several
hundred yards, and then he says, "Where's ----?" calling him by name.
"I must go back and fetch him!" and off he hurried, braving the hail
of shot and shell. I admired his bravery so much that I offered to go
with him, but he said, "No, the Lord will protect me; I'll manage it!"
"'So I threw myself on the ground and waited. I saw him creep along
for some yards, then run to cover; creep along, and take shelter
again; and, finally, having found his chum, he picked him up and made
a dash for safety.
"'How the bullets fell around him! Into the shelter of some trees he
went; out again and in once more; and when he did get into the last
piece of clearing I couldn't wait any longer, so rushed forward to
help him.
"'Then I got hit, and was, of course, bowled over. But your man
quickly came to me.
"'What do you think the brave fellow did? He just put his other arm
round me and carried us both off! Darkness was fast coming on, and
presently he laid us down and bound the wounds, which he bandaged up
with strips which he tore from his shirt. I shall never forget that
terrible night!
"'The three of us struggled on, we two getting weaker and weaker,
until just as dawn was breaking we all collapsed.
"'How far we had gone I don't know, for the next I remember was that I
was in a field hospital. I could find no trace of my brave rescuer nor
his chum, and have heard nothing of them since. But he's a brave boy,
and if ever I chance to meet him again I'll ask his name, and the _War
Cry_ shall know it as soon as word can reach you.'"
The next story is one altogether different. I quote it from the United
Free Church of Scotland _Record_. It speaks for itself.
"It was a Sunday morning in Belgium. There had been a sharp
engagement, and the British troops holding a village had been
hurriedly forced by great masses of the enemy to retire. In the
confusion three Scottish privates and a corporal had been cut off in
the streets and had backed into the first open door they came to. The
occupants had fled, and they made their way up a long staircase,
intending to find the roof and watch events from there. But it ended
in an empty loft, where there was only a skylight beyond their reach.
"'Better lie low for a while,' suggested the corporal as they stood
listening to the terrible sounds outside. The Germans were evidently
burning, looting, and killing. Now and again they heard screams and
the discharge of rifles: sometimes an explosion would shake the
building, showing that houses were being blown up; while the smell of
burning wood penetrated to their retreat. This went on for hours. The
soldiers knew they would be discovered sooner or later, and expected
no mercy, as the enemy would be sure to invent some excuse for putting
them to death.
"Suddenly the corporal said: 'Lads, it's time for church parade: let's
hae a wee bit service here; it may be oor last.' The soldiers looked a
little astonished, but they piled their rifles in a corner and came
and stood at attention. The corporal took out a small Testament from
his breast pocket and turned over the pages.
"'Canna we sing something first? Try ye're hand at the 23rd Psalm.
Quiet noo--very quiet.'
"Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear none ill:
For thou art with me; and thy rod
And staff me comfort still."
"There wasn't much melody about the tune, but the words came from the
heart.
"Then the corporal began:
"'Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the
soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body
in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them
shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs
of your head are numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value
than many sparrows.'
"As he read there were loud shouts below: doors banged, and glass was
smashed. But he went on:
"'He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life
for my sake shall find it.'
"He ended, and his grave face took on a wry smile.
"'I'm no' a gude hand at this job,' he said, 'but we maun finish it
off. Let us pray.'
"He stood, with the book in his hand, and the others knelt and bowed
their heads. His memory went back to the days of family worship in his
father's cottage, and he tried to remember the phrases he had heard. A
little haltingly, but very simply, he committed their way to God and
asked for strength to meet their coming fate like men.
"While he prayed a heavy hand thrust open the door and they heard an
exultant exclamation and then a gasp of surprise. Not a man moved, and
the corporal went calmly on. After a pause he began, with great
reverence, to repeat the Lord's Prayer.
"That a German officer or private was standing there they realised:
they did not see, but they felt, what was taking place. They heard the
click of his heels, and they knew that he also was standing at
attention. For a moment the suspense lasted, and then came the soft
closing of the door and his footsteps dying away.
"The tumult in the house gradually ceased, and soon afterwards the
storm of war retreated like the ebb of the tide, and quiet fell upon
the village and remained upon it. At dusk the four men ventured forth,
and by making a wide detour worked round the flank of the enemy and
reached the British outposts in safety."
One other story will suffice. Sergeant William Taylor of the 1st Royal
Berkshire Regiment died of wounds in the Herbert Hospital, Woolwich,
on Thursday, December 10. A beautiful character, a devoted Christian
soldier, he was promoted on the field from the rank of lance-corporal
to sergeant for conspicuous bravery. On one occasion he stood over a
fallen comrade with bullets whizzing all around, until eventually the
comrade was carried to a place of safety. On another occasion Sergeant
Taylor volunteered with others to attack a position held by a strong
force of the enemy. The Berkshires lost heavily until reinforced, and
then the position was carried. He was the ideal soldier--the
"righteous man" who is "brave as a lion."
The late Rev. T.J. Thorpe, who cared for him while he was in hospital
at Woolwich, says: "The Lord Jesus was very precious to him amidst the
agony of his last days, and he died more than conqueror." This grand
Christian hero was only twenty-four years old.
Before I close this chapter, let me give extracts from two letters
sent home by two Baptist chaplains and published in the _Baptist Times
and Freeman_.
The Rev. T.N. Tattersall writes:
"I have made inquiries as to how the men behave in the trenches. What
effect has the imminence of death upon the character of the men? Some
use language more forcible than polite. Some find the Black Marias and
shells a source of entertainment. Some turn their feelings into the
songs of Zion. Many vows to God are made on the field of battle, and a
Christian soldier has a great opportunity of which he is not slow to
make use. In a chat with one such, Private J. Downs, of the Welsh
Regiment, a good Baptist, whom I found in hospital recovering from a
wound, he told me how he lost his chum. They were sharing a dug-out
together, and had agreed, should either fall, to write home the
terrible news. His friend said, 'You will tell my wife I am ready,
that to God I have given my trust.' Just before he fell he sang 'Jesus
is tenderly calling thee home.' Little did he realise how near was his
own call. A bullet struck him in the head. Last Thursday the letter
was written."
The second is from the Rev. E.L. Watson, and forcibly depicts to us
the highest form of courage--courage that triumphs in spite of fear
and triumphs through Christ. Such courage is the possession of every
Christian soldier.
"At another farm-house in absolute darkness and silence we reached our
second dressing station. The regimental medical officer was absent,
but the sergeant in charge was ready to deliver over his charge. I
stepped into what appeared to be a large living room covered with
straw, upon which some fifteen men were lying in absolute silence. No
groans, no word of complaint escaped the lips of a single man, no
asking for drink, nor claiming first assistance. I felt my way over
several, and was able to whisper a word of cheer here and there. One
badly wounded man guided my hand to that of a lad near by with the
words, 'Speak a word to that lad, chaplain, he must need his mother.'
Out of that darkness one by one they were carefully lifted on to
stretchers and put into the ambulances.
"One incident impressed me very much that night in that chamber of
agony. Just as the last man was being carried out I heard a sob near
by me, and putting out my hand touched a stretcher-bearer who had
become jumpy. Poor boy, and no wonder. Only seventeen years of age,
and away from home for the first time. Empty stomach and soaked
clothes, bringing in and remaining with the wounded till relieved,
with death outside at every step. This first night of his experience
with war was trying his strength and testing his nerve. I took his
hand, and whispered a message, and I heard him go out with his little
company again towards the trenches over a fire-swept area.
"Men claim that heroism always comes to the front in a crisis, and so
it does, but I have learned too that the heroic soul is not always the
fearless one. In the case of this lad the sense of duty overcame his
sense of fear, and away he went to face death, brave and heroic, in
spite of a trembling heart and unsteady hand."
Yet one more picture of heroism, and it is, indeed, a strange one.
There is a touch of unconscious humour in it, but for all that it is
grandly heroic.
Six Royal Field Artillery men, soldiers of the King and of the
Salvation Army too, have been holding daily prayer meetings just
behind the guns, and have succeeded in capturing several of their
comrades as "trophies." There was no "penitent rail" to which to
invite them, and so, notwithstanding the cold, they piled their
overcoats together, and kneeling at this improvised "rail" their
comrades gave themselves to Christ.
What a picture it presents of absolute devotion and of the highest
Christian courage! The guns hardly cool from their deadly fire, soon
to belch out death again, the men in the depth of winter caring naught
for the cold or for the enemy's shot and shell, using their brief
interval to lead their comrades to Christ. Pray on, Salvation Army
lads! You will fight all the better for your country because of your
fight for the King of Kings, and if death stares you in the face you
will know that you have spent your last moments in pointing your
comrades to the Lamb of God Who taketh away the sin of the world.
[Illustration: A NEW FORM OF RED-CROSS WORK.
The Red-Cross Motor Field Kitchen, under the direction of Miss
Jessica Borthwick, dispenses hot soup to the wounded on the
battlefield.
_Drawn by S. Begg._]